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NAJ'AH  E.WOODWARD 


THE  LIBRARY 
OF 

THE  UNIVERSITY 

OF  CALIFORNIA 

LOS  ANGELES 


POEMS 


BY 


NAJAH  E.  WOODWARD 


BOSTON 

THE  POET  LORE  COMPANY 

THE   GORHAM    PRESS 
igi6 


Copyright,  1916,  by  Najah  E.  Woodward 


All  Rights  Reserved 


THE  GORHAM  PHMJS,  BOSTON,  U.  S.  A. 


626003 


CONTENTS 

To  a  Room    9 

Two    Translations    from     the     French    of 

Eugene  Piffault 10 

Reflection    1 1 

To  the  Child's  Portrait   12 

To  the  Child  Asleep 13 

Illusions    14 

Aftermath    15 

Generations    16 

Remembrance    17 

Babbie    18 

The  Mother  Sings  Again    19 

Faith    20 

The  Visions  of  Christ   21 

The  Ghost  Mother   22 

Infinite    Love 23 

The  Problem 24 

Loosening   Fingers    25 

To  One  with  Many  Lovers   26 

Worthless    28 

To   My   Mother    29 

In  the  City  of  the  Great  31 

The    Unattainable    32 

To  Amsterdam  Ave 33 

Written   in    191 1    34 

To  A  Cuban  Girl  35 

To   Lucille    36 

His  Rose   37 

The    Unwearying    Singer    38 

After   the   Rain    40 


CONTENTS 

A  Legend    41 

A  Christmas  Carol    42 

A  Woodland   Reverie    43 

To   Mrs.   W.    B.   W 45 

The   Soldier's   Return    46 

Three  Hymns 

Morning    47 

Noon    47 

Evening    48 

Constancy    49 

1915    Lullaby    50 

The   Promised   Land    51 

A   Parody    52 

Fame    53 

A  Fragment    54 

Unrecognized 55 

Spring    56 

To  Barrie's   Pan    57 

The  Adored  One  58 

A   Valentine    59 

Recollection    60 

The  Land  of  Dreams   61 

A  Toast    62 

Contentment    63 

Journey's    End    64 


POEMS 


TO  A  ROOM 

Oh!   little  grey  walls  of  a  room  so  bare, 
I  would  you  were  papered  with  gold, 

I  would  that  your  windows  were  tinted  with  pearl, 
Leaden  paned,  to  shut  out  the  curious  and  bold. 

And  the  feet  that  within  you,  could  leave  no  imprint 
Of  the  world's  selfish,  sorrow  and  sin, 

Would  take  all  the  years  flight  of  time  to  your  door, 
And  arriving  there,  once  more  go  in. 

Oh!  little  grey  walls,  oh  pitiful  walls! 

You  are  stripped  of  your  pride  for  I  know  not 

how  long, 
And  the  lights  and  the  music  no  longer  are  yours, 

They  are  gone  far  away  from  my  song. 

There  are  voices  you  long  like  myself,  just  to  hear, 
There  are  faces  you  miss  in  the  gloom, 

There  are  names  that  you  love  that  are  spoken  no 

more 
In  you,  loved  but  empty  grey  Room! 

Oh  mourn  not  little  Room,  for  the  future  is  fair, 

Although  empty  the  present  may  be  ; 
There  are  others  as  famous  you  love  to  have  there, 

Once  again  happy  hours  you'll  see. 

So  be  glad  little  Room  as  you  stand  in  your  place, 

Not  forever  your  glory  gone  far ; 
Your  time  shall  return  for  an  hour,  though  brief, 

Oh  walls  that  have  sheltered  a  Star! 


TWO    TRANSLATIONS    FROM    THE 
FRENCH  OF  EUGENIE  PIFFAULT 


How  like  an  azure  sky 
Your  eyes  with  look  so  clear; 

So  pure,  so  candid,  and  so  high  ; 
Your  lovely  soul  I  see  there,  Dear. 

Soul  that  researches  mine 
The  night  and  morning  through, 

Oh  come  with  passion  so  divine, 
Come  calm  my  love  for  you ! 

Of  you  I  dream  when  sleep  I  take; 
Sweet  soul,  may  Jesus  bless; 

And  think  of  you  when  I  awake, 
And  of  your  loveliness. 

Soul  of  my  soul,  oh  Dear  to  me 
Our  vows  are  witnessed  above. 

That  golden  tie,  the  sign  to  me 
Of  an  eternal  love. 

II 

I  have  on  thy  adored  head 
Poured  all  the  perfumed  garden  bed; 

Life's  flowers ;  and  love ;  and  dawn's  gold  hue — 
Come  oh  beloved  one;  I  want  you! 


10 


REFLECTION 

My  thoughts  like  wild  birds  sing  and  soar, 
Like  wild  birds  they  return  no  more. 
When  dawn  is  breaking  lo!  I  stand, 
Eyes  shaded  with  a  wistful  hand. — 

Like  wild  birds  do  they  soar  and  sing 
On  scarlet  tinted  spreading  wing. 

They  sing  and  soar  like  wild  birds  free. 
And  nevermore  return  to  me. 

At  nightfall  when  the  moon  is  high 
Lest  they  return  a  watch  keep  I — 

Where  art  thou  gone  forevermore 
Oh  thoughts  of  mine  that  sing  and  soar  ? 


II 


TO  THE  CHILD'S  PORTRAIT 

An  Angel's  face,  serene  and  pure, 
Warm  lips  of   red   that  seldom  smiled, 

Wide  eyes,  reproachful,  but  demure. 
Half  human,  and  half  fairy  Child. 

Long  lashes  lifted,  brows  as  calm 
As  skies  and  oceans  deep  and  blue; 

Speak  but  one  word,  and  like  a  balm 
Peace  here  shall  stay  her  flight  to  you ! 

Why  do  I  pause  before  this  long, 
Oh  spirit  in  my  troubled  breast? 

Say,  shall  again  my  soul  be  strong 
If  here  awhile  I  leave  it  rest? 

An  Angel's  face,  I  know  not  why, 
When  all  about  is  dark  and  sad, 

I  think  of  time  that  shall  roll  by; 
I  see  Thee,  and  my  soul  is  glad. 


12 


TO  THE  CHILD  ASLEEP 

Oh!  Child  asleep  in  your  cosy  nest, 
With  your  eyes  shut  in  peaceful  repose; 

There  are  no  sad  thoughts  on  your  beautiful  brow, 
And  no  sighs  on  your  lips,  oh  my  Rose! 

There  is  one  quiet  hand  on  the  counterpane, 
And  your  dark  locks  lie  round  you  with  grace ; 

While  the  beauty  of  sleep,  and  the  freedom  from 

care 
Is  reflected  tonight  on  your  face. 

And  we  think,   as  we  gaze  on  you  slumbering 

there, 
Of  Another,  Who  sleeps  as  you  do, 

How  she  carries  your  calm,  and  your  smile  on  her 

lips, 
So  we  weep  as  we  look  upon  you. 

Quite  soon  you  shall  rise  with  a  smile  for  our  grief, 
And  we  know  it,  but  yet  we  still  fear 

That  while  we  have  you  as  our  comfort  today, 
Tomorrow  you  may  not  be  here. 

Oh!   Child  asleep  in  your  cosy  nest, 
Awaken  and  speak  to  us,  smile! 

We  are  haunted  with  fear  that  you  too  might 

sleep  on, 
And  double  our  sorrow  and  trial. 


ILLUSIONS 

Let  me  dream  on,  and  on, 

Even  for  you  I  would  never  awake. 

There  I  can  have  and  can  hold  with  a  breath 

Joyous  in  life  and  triumphant  in  death. 

Ills  have  no  power,  temptation  is  gone, 

What  does  life  matter  if  I  can  dream  on  ? 

Let  me  dream  on,  and  on, 
Grand  are  the  melodies  then  I  can  hear — 
Sweet  is  your  voice ;  and  your  handclasp  is  blest. 
Sweeter  in  dreams  than  the  roses  I  pressed. 
Life  holds  but  sorrow,  the  sunshine  is  gone — 
There!  you've  wakened  me,  who  would  dream  on ! 


AFTERMATH 

I  saw  a  light,  I  saw  a  sail, 
I  saw  a  tower  that  might  fall ; 

I  saw  a  face  above  the  rail — 
And  darkness  was  the  bier  and  pall. 

I  saw  a  boat,  I  heard  a  cry, 
Oh  fearful  stormed  the  waves  at  sea! 

But  there  the  light  was,  high  and  dry, 
Thou  wert  so  safe,  so  far  from  me. 

Thy  candle  held  above  my  head, 
Thou  wert  secure  from  storm  and  shocks; 

Nor  saw,  when  darkness  was  long  fled, 
The  broken  ship  upon  the  rocks. 


GENERATIONS 

Oh  woeful  hopes,  I  see  thee  cast — 
The  children  of  my  hopeless  past 

And  thou  art  bleeding,  weary,  sore — 
Cast  down  to  earth  to  shine  no  more! 

Oh  woeful  hopes,   I  see  thee  lie 
Before  me  in  thy  misery — 

And  yet,  shall  come  a  brighter  day, 
Thy  children  rise  to  light  my  way.1 


16 


REMEMBRANCE 

I  have  not  sung  for  long,  oh  far  off  Paradise, 
There  is  no  power  strong  enough  to  draw  me  to  thy 
way, 

Thy  golden  towers,  both  night  and  day, 
Still  shining  in  mine  eyes. 

I  have  not  sung  for  ages,  oh  far  off  Melody, 
My  harpstrings  now  are  bent  in  muteness  and  dis 
tress. 

Thy  sunlit  hilltops  I  still  see,  as  onward  I  press; 
And  still   my  heart  must  soar  and  sing  at  happy 
thought  of  Thee! 


BABBIE 

I  hear  the  patter  of  little  feet, 

Into  my  life  she  has  danced  her  way, 

And  the  sound  of  her  baby  voice,  laughing  and  sweet, 

Serves  as  the  balm  that  drives  sorrow  away. 

For  she  is  so  dainty  and  small, 

And  round  eyed,  and  serious  and  fair, 

And  naughty  at  times,  but  I  care  not  at  all, 

For  Baby  is  mine,  from  her  heels  to  her  hair. 

When  I  rise  in  the  morning  she's  with  me, 

And  she  echoes  each  word  that  I  say; 

And  her  nearness  and  dearness  is  realler  by  far 

Than  the  faces  I  see  every  day. 

When  I  go  up  to  bed  she  is  with  me, 

Thus  I  rest  all  the  easier  upon 

A  pillow  of  dreams,  but  when  daybreak  is  come 

I  awaken  and  weep ;  She  is  gone ! 

For  She's  only  a  Dreamchild  in  truth, 

And  only  in  dreams  do  I  know  her  the  best, 

'Tis  only  in  dreams  I  can  croon  to  her  low, 

To  make  sure  she  is  really  at  rest. 

Yes,  only  in  dreams  to  behold  her, 

For  they  all  permit  me  to  see 

What  waking  time  takes  from  me,  leaving  me  lone. 

Oh  Dreamchild,  become  real  to  me! 


18 


THE  MOTHER  SINGS  AGAIN 

The  wind  is  blowing  in  the  treetops, 
Slumber  little  One,  mine,  all  mine; 
The  air  is  sweet  with  brightest  scented  drops, 
Slumber  little  One,  mine,  all  mine! 
Through  the  clear  air  sweet  voices  are  ringing, 
The  breaths  that  you  draw  keep  time  to  their  singing. 
Oh  love,  oh  my  little  One  close  thy  bright  eyes ; 
For  I  keep  a  watch  over  thee! 

The  wind  is  murmuring  soft  o'er  thy  resting  place, 

Slumber  little  One,  mine  so  long  gone! 

'Tis  long  since  I  looked  on  thy  quietly  sleeping  face ; 

Slumber  little  One,  mine  so  long  gone! 

My  heart  is  an  ache  with  the  memory  of  thee, 

The  earth  is  a  dreary  old  place,  love  for  me; 

Oh  love,  oh  my  little  One,  closed  are  thy  bright  eyes, 

And  Heaven  is  joyful  in  thee! 


FAITH 

One  more  bend  in  the  road, 
One  more  turn  in  the  wall, 

And  the  well-known  footsteps  die  away, 
They  will  hasten  no  more  at  my  call. 

One  more  bend  in  the  road, 
One  backward  glimpse  at  the  past 

For  the  eyes  are  blind  to  the  path  on  ahead, 
And  the  change  that  shall  come  at  last. 

One  more  corner  to  round, 
One  more  flagstone  to  tread, 

And  tomorrow  a  Nation  may  dine  at  my  board. 
Or  be  granting  me  shelter  and  bread. 

One  more  dark  passage  to  come, 
One  more  sharp  sorrow  to  bear ; 

But  still  in  the  sunlight  I'll  lift  up  my  head, 
And  feel  its  warm  radiance  there. 


20 


THE  VISION  OF  CHRIST 

Who  wears  this  Image  next  his  heart, 
No  sun  shall  beat  but  he  can  bear. 
The  season's  bloom  afresh  for  him 
Because  of  It,  whose  eyes  are  dim 
Shall  see  a  Holier  radiance  there. 

No  mournful  note  shall  wail  on  ear, 
Nor  needless  sorrow  touch  his  eyes; 
Forgetting  misery,  grief  and  woe, 
Through  years  of  happy  faith  shall  go 
On  wings  of  light  to  Paradise. 

Who  wears  this  Image  next  his  heart 
Long  years  his  hope  shall  radiant  shine. 
The  groping  see  the  light  It  brings, 
The  dumb  ears  hear  the  song  It  sings, 
And  seeing,  hearing,  rise  Divine. 

His  message  in  his  daily  deed, 
No  pen  needs  he  to  ply  his  art. 
And.  though  he  stumble  by  the  way, 
He  finds,  somewhere,  the  light  of  day. 
Who  wears  this  Image  next  his  heart. 


THE  GHOST  MOTHER 

Oh  give  me  the  nightime  sky, 
When  the  wind  is  still,  and  the  moon  is  high. 

Hours  of   midnight  I   do  not  dread, 
Nor  the  Vision  that  sits  by  my  lonely  bed. 

Oh  give  me  the  darkest  night, 
And  never  come  near  me  with  candle  light. 

Cool  are  her  hands,  and  her  arms  so  near — 
Oh  why  should  I  dread  her  when  she  is  so  dear  ? 

Oh  give  me  the  hours  of  sleep, 
When  others  are  slumbering,  and  watchers  weep. 

By  me  at  midnight,  and  smiling  above, 
Is  the  ever  dear  presence  of  One  I  love. 

Oh  give  me  the  night  of  peace, 
I  would  the  darkness  might  never  cease. 

They  have  denied  me  the  comforting  touch 
Of  hands  that  I  crave,  and  I  need  them  so  much! 


22 


INFINITE  LOVE 

Oh  love  lend  me  your  silvery  wings, 

Wet  with  the  nightly  dew; 

Sprinkled  with  stars  and  the  dew  of  desires; 

That  I  may  fly  to  you! 

Bright  are  your  eyes  as  that  dew  of  desires, 

Deep  are  their  depths  as  an  azure  sky, 

Burneth  my  heart  with  a  million  fires; 

Kindled  forever,  and  never  to  die. 

Oh  love  lend  me  your  lyre  of  gold, 

Strings  that  are  bent  with  the  chords  of  song. 

Notes  that  respond  at  your  happy  touch, 

And  within  me  vibrate  long. 

Sweet  is  your  voice  as  the  linnets  call, 

Tones  that  flow  with  the  Singer's  grace; 

Words  unknown,  that  to  me  cry  out, 

I  think  lovely  as  your  face. 

Oh  love  lend  me  your  power  to  love, 
Though  great  is  my  own  in  my  breast, 
Greater  by  far  than  can  ever  be  told, 
Or  ever  can  be  expressed ; 
Still  you  see  how  I  fumble  and  falter, 
Each  song  is  so  poorly  addressed, 
Oh  love,  lend  me  all  your  great  power 
That  I  mav  at  last  be  at  rest! 


THE  PROBLEM 

What's  a  Widow  ?  Who  can  tell 

The  heights  of  mind  She  dwells  within  ? 

Be  it  seaside,  shore,  or  dell, 

There's  not  a  soul  who  knows  Her  well 

Enough  to  wear  a  boastful  grin. 

What's  a  Widow?    Who  can  write 
In  language  full,  and  language  free 
The  records  of  Her,  pure  and  white, 
Without  temptation  hoves  in  sight 
To  add  "What  next  of  Her  will  be?" 

What's  a  Widow?    Who  can  sing 
Her  praises  with  his  tongue  or  pen, 
And  still  be  unmoved  if  She  bring 
Her  instrument  of  harp  and  string 
To  pay  his  flattery  back  again  ? 

What's  a  Widow?    Who's  so  old 
That  heart  and  pulses  fluttered  not 
At  glance  of  eye  in  days  of  old; 
Before  he  learned  that  Hers  was  cold 
And  his  was  warmed  to  burning  hot  ? 

What's  a  Widow  ?    How  can  they 
Who  know  Her  ever  dare  to  sing 
Of  other  women,  whom  they  say, 
Have  depth  of  sweetness  put  away? 
For  Hers  is  shown  in  everything. 


LOOSENING  FINGERS 

Keep  me  yet  a  little  while, 
Nor  let  me  slip  so  far  away ! 
I  only  live  to  see  your  smile, 
You  are  my  light,  my  life,  my  day. 

Hold  me  yet  a  little  longer, 

Life's  too  short  to  live  alone  ; 

And  I  have  need  of  something  stronger, 

Something  I  can  call  my  own. 

Hold  me  yet  a  little  closer! 
Day  grows  dim,  and  shadows  fall ; 
You  are  mine,  my  rock,  my  fortress, 
Overlord,  and  King  of  all. 

Loosen  not,  oh  wavering  ringers! 
Darkness  falls,  I  cannot  see. 
Fainter  grows  the  clasp,  and  lingers 
Fainter  in  my  memory. 


TO  ONE  WITH  MANY  LOVERS 

Oh  Songbird  spread  thy  wings  and  soar 
Into  the  blue  and  sunlit  sky, 

But  perch  above  my  chamber  door 
When  night  is  nigh. 

Thy  crimson  wings  with  edge  of  gold 
In  daytime  please  the  hearts  of  men, 

But  in  the  darkness  and  the  cold 
Forgotten  are  again. 

Thy  voice  is  now  a  clarion  call, 
And  clear  and  sweet  is  heard  thy  song, 

And  thou  art  chief  among  them  all, 
For  fame  is  strong. 

But  when  the  sun  sets  in  the  west, 
And  song  and  labor  cease  to  be, 

And  thou  must  find  a  faithful  breast, 
There'll  be  but  me. 

Ah,  now  they  feel  thy  gracious  power, 
Thy  message  and  thy  song  they  heed ! 

But  when  shall  come  the  darkened  hour, 
Then  thou  shalt  need. 

No  place  to  rest  ye'll  ever  find, 
No  nest,  no  birdlings,  and  no  mate; 

And  loneliness,  and  sorrowing  mind 
Will  be  thy  fate. 


26 


Oh  Songbird  spread  thy  wings  so  bright, 
For  day  is  sweet  in  which  to  reign, 

But  come  again  before  the  night 
Brings  with  it  pain. 

The  fickle  world  that  loves  thee  so, 
The  songs  of  praise  that  thou  dost  hear, 

Will  soon  be  dust;  but  thou  wilt  know 
I  hold  thee  dear. 


WORTHLESS 

I  saw  their  faces  loom  before  me  as  I  turned  the 

pages  o'er, 
And  some  were  bad,  and  some  were  good,  though  all 

were  doing  what  they  could. 
Of  them  I  read  with  interest,  yet  none  I  voted  as 

the  best. 

I  saw  their  names  all  written  down  before  me  in 

their  great  renown, 
And  some  I  knew,  and  some  I  guessed  were  not  as 

famous  as  the  rest. 
I  scanned  them  with  a  careless  eye,  and  sighed,  and 

then  I  passed  them  by. 

I  saw  their  lives  laid  bare  and  plain,  and  read  their 

stories  once  again ; 
I  knew  their  feasts  and  revelries,  and  follies,  and 

great  flippancies. 
I  saw  their  children,  and  their  sires;  yet  none  were 

worth  affection's  fires. 

I  saw  their  kindnesses  all  traced,  and  some  had  wept, 

and  some  embraced. 
I  felt  them  near,  and  heard  them  tell  each  hope, 

each  fancy  passing  well. 
I  left  them  to  another's  care,  and  closed  the  book, 

YOU  were  not  there. 


28 


TO  MY  MOTHER 

When  you  are  old  and  wrinkled, 
And  your  hair  has  turned  to  gray, 
And  your  loveliness  and  gaiety, 
And  youth  has  passed  away — 

I  shall  gaze  upon  your  grey  hairs, 
When  with  age  your  dear  head's  crowned, 
And  love  you  just  the  same,  Dear 
As  when  you  were  first  renowned. 

When  you  are  old  and  sorrowful, 
And  tears  your  face  have  marred, 
And  all  your  life's  a  past  to  you 
With  sins  and  crosses  scarred — 


How  rev'rently  I'll  speak  Dear 
Of  a  past  that's  gold  to  me, 
And  I'll  forget  the  shadows 
That  to  you,  must  always  be. 

When  you  are  old  and  helpless, 
And  your  weary  feet  shall  fall 
On  the  roadside  that  you  trod,  Dear, 
Once  the  gayest  of  them  all — 

What  a  privilege  I'll  count  it 
To  have  the  chance  so  blest 
To  help  you  up  rejoicing 
Till  you  sink  at  last  to  rest. 


29 


When  you  are  old  and  feeble, 
And  your  eyes  shall  close  at  last, 
And  the  hands  so  busy,  eager, 
Shall  in  blessed  sleep  be  clasped — 

I  shall  pray  and  wait  in  sunshine 
Of  sweet  patience,  tried,  and  true, 
To  linger  till  the  Master  comes 
To  take  me  home  to  you. 

Though  you  be  old  and  weak  Dear 
When  those  golden  streets  you  tread, 
There  shall  come  a  light  so  glorious 
That  will  shine  about  your  head — 

And    I,   when   joining  you   there, 
After  years  of  love  so  true, 
Will  be  such  a  happy  Angel 
If  I  may  but  stay  near  you ! 


IN  THE  CITY  OF  THE  GREAT 
July  to  August,  1915 

Upon  the  walks  where  They  have  trod 
I  see  my  shadow  bend  and  nod. 

And  where  the  lights  and  music  lie 
One  who  loves  Them  shall  pass  Them  by. 

Upon  the  streets  where  they  have  passed 
My  very  steps  shall  fall  at  last, 

And  after  patient  years  of  prayer 
I,  too,  shall  walk  among  them  there. 

Between  me  and  my  daily  thought 
The  sun  shone  on  the  gifts  they  brought, 

And  yet,  it  is  enough  for  me 
To  be  where  They  once  used  to  be. 


THE  UNATTAINABLE 
July  to  August,  1915 

Out  of  the  myriads  of  wealth  heaped  about  me, 
Out  of  the  fortunes  that  sparkle  and  gleam, 

Out  of  the  hopes  that  no  more  throng  about  me, 
See,  I  have  left,  Dear,  the  little  old  dream! 

Now  I  have  riches,  desires  are  granted, 
Countries  explored  that  I  once  longed  to  see, 

Harvest    now    gathered    where    just   seeds    were 

planted, 
Tended  and  watched  over  only  by  me. 

Dear  to  my  heart  were  the  treasures  awaited, 
Many  the  times  when  they  faded  in  air, 

Still,  I  was  patient,  I  knew  I  was  fated 
Some  day  to  waken  and  find  them  all  there. 

Out  of  the  myriads  of  wealth  heaped  about  me, 
Out  of  the  promises  life  doth  fulfill, 

Out  of  the  hopes  that  no  more  throng  about  me, 
Rises  the  dream  of  you,  shadowy  still. 


TO  AMSTERDAM  AVE. 

July  to  August,   1915 

Oh  little  street,   whereon   I   tread, 
And  daily  forth  I  fare, 

How  long  my  heart  for  you  hath  bled, 
How  dear  you  were  to  One  not  there! 

If  you  could  know  that  as  I  slept 
I  stood  upon  you,  as  a  Child, 

And  woke  to  find  you  gone,  and  wept; 
And  in  my  heart  bemoaned  you  wild — 

If  you  could  know  how  dear  you  are 
To  One  who  dreamt  of  you  so  long, 

When  you  must  once  again  be  far 
You'll  glory  in  my  unheard  song. 


WRITTEN  IN  1911 

I  inherited  dancing  from  Mother, 
From  Father  I  learned  how  to  play, 
From  Grandma  I  learned  how  to  drink  tea 
In  Fifth  Ave.  mansions  each  day. 
From  Aunt  Bess  I  learned  how  to  dabble 
In  oil  paints,  and  colors  so  rare  ; 
And  Uncle  Ted  read  to  me  novels, 
Where  Heroines  always  are  fair. 

Then  my  Cousin  Amelia,  She  taught  me 
To  'broider  on  linen  so  fine — 
Oh  there's  not  a  member  of  our  house 
Hasn't  once  owned  these  talents  of  mine. 
Except  Grandpa,  he's  simple,  dear  old  Soul! 
Without  any  leanings  to  art; 
I  guess  that  is  mostly  the  reason 
He's  got  the  best  place  in  my  heart. 


34 


TO  A  CUBAN  GIRL 

Senorita  Carmelita  has  the  blackest  hair, 

It  hangs  down  to  her  knees,  unbound, 

And  yet,  her  skin  is  fair. 

And  when  she  stamps  her  tiny  foot, 

Or  waves  her  fan  so  slow, 

I'll  warrant  no  heart  ever  went 

The  speed  she  makes  mine  go! 

Senorita  Carmelita's  eyes  are  brown  as  woods  in  May, 

And  lights  within  them  are  the  sun 

Come  peeping  through  at  break  of  day. 

And  when  she  claps  her  tiny  hands, 

I  take  them  in  my  own, 

And  tell  her  that  She  is  so  gay 

I  fear  her  love  has  flown! 

Senorita  Carmelita's  soul  is  pure  as  Angel  sighs, 

And  though  she  pouts,  and  frowns,  and  scoffs, 

A  tender  light  is  in  her  eyes. 

And  if  I  falter  at  the  hour 

When  words  should  be  so  fine, 

I'll  read  my  answer  in  her  smile, 

And  feel  she  will  be  mine. 


35 


TO  LUCILE 

There  are  lilies,  it  is  true, 
White  and  pure  as  the  soul  of  you. 

Once  I  found  within  a  wood, 
Flowers  as  rare,  but  not  as  good. 

There  are  stars  up  in  the  skies, 
Nearly  bright  as  are  your  eyes ; 

There  are  roses  and  tulips 
Most  as  crimson  as  yptfr  lips. 

Oh  good  heart,  as  true  as  gold, 
There  are  those  with  thoughts  untold. 

But  they  ever  silent  are, 
How  shall  we  know  if  they  care  ? 

There  are  distant  ones  who  come, 
Seldom  are  they  in  your  home  ; 

Yet,  if  we  could  read  them  through, 
They  are  worshippers  of  you. 

They  are  courteous,  passing  gay, 
With  jests  on  lips  they  take  their  way; 

Yet,  the  ages  will  reveal 
Written  on  their  hearts,  Lucile. 


HIS  ROSE 

In  the  sun  dialed  garden  grows 

His  Rose. 

And  though  we  toil  and  strive  our  best 

To  do  as  He  does,  with  the  rest; 

We  have  no  knack,  we  lack  the  care 

To  make  a  rival  flourish  there. 

His  Rose  has  blossomed,  while  ours  droop, 

Group  after  group. 

In  its  bed  blooms,  hour  by  hour, 
His  Flower. 

And  though  we  plant,  and  weed,  and  sigh, 
Our  fairest  Ones  soon  droop  and  die. 
And   wide  eyed,   hungrily,  we  yearn; 
And  feel  our  hearts  with  envy  burn, 
As  we  behold  his,  straight  and  tall, 
From  o'er  the  wall. 

Our  petals  are  a  crimson  hue, 
But  his  are  too. 

Our  hearts  are  golden,  his  so  gold 
Our  eyes  are  dim  when  we  behold. 
More  wonderful  than  tongue  or  pen 
Can  sing,  or  dare  describe  again. 
His  treasure  and  his  joy  and  pride 
Lives,  when  ours  died ! 

All  honor  to  his  lovely  Queen, 
The  best  that's  been! 
The  labor  of  his  hands,  at  start 
A  dream  unrealized  in  his  heart. 
And  we  forget  what  our  hope  is 
To  come  and  mutely  worship  his — 
The  loveliest  flower  that  ever  grows, 
His  Rose. 

37 


THE  UNWEARYING  SINGER 

I  love  my  little  window 
Where  the  light  comes  stealing  in, 

And  lays  it's  rosy  fingers  round 
When  morning  shall  begin. 

The  golden  rays  of  sunlight 
That  are  mingled  with  the  shade, 

Make  my  dwelling  place  a  haven, 
Where   life's  glory  cannot   fade. 

I  love  my  little  resting  place, 
With  whitest  linen  spread, 

O'er  me  a  downy  comforter, 
A  pillow  for  my  head. 

And  when  I  lay  me  down  at  night 
Upon  that  couch  so  fine, 

My  glad  heart  prays,  "Oh  bless  for  me 
This  little  bed  of  mine!" 

I  love  my  little  memories, 
I  count  them  with  great  care, 

The  emblems  of  far  places  seen, 
And  joyous  happenings  there. 

A  ribbon,  or  a  letter, 
A  fragrant  flower  pressed ; 

And  here  are  days  long  past  and  gone, 
And  hopes  now  sunk  to  rest. 


I  love  my  little  bedroom 
With  a  love  that  will  not  cease, 

It  draws  me  here,  and  I  shall  stay 
Within  its  walls  of  peace. 

I  love  it  all,  a  great,  great  love, 
Within  this  room  of  blue; 

And  here  I'll  sing  forevermore, 
And  hope  and  wait  for  you. 


AFTER  THE  RAIN 

The  clouds  have  wept  their  grief  away 
Onto  the  old  earth's  tender  breast, 

Departed  is  the  rainy  day; 
And  all  the  world's  at  rest. 

The  little  birds  on  yonder  tree 

Enfold  their  wings  in  slumber  light, 

And  happy  will  my  Songster  be 

To  rest  him  through  the  quiet  night. 

Your  eyes  are  brown,  oh  little  Child, 
All  day  they  dance  in  childish  play ; 

But  now  they  droop  with  weariness, 
So  sleep  the  tired  hours  away. 

I  sit  beside  you  as  I  sing, 

I  love  you  more  than  tongue  can  tell ; 
Sweet  promises  will  dreamland  bring, 

My  little  Child,  so  rest  you  well ! 


40 


A  LEGEND 

"I  can  no  more  walk,"  said  the  Indian, 
"My  feet  are  both  tired  and  sore. 

So  I'll  pitch  my  camp  near  this  river, 
And  travel  this  evening  no  more. 

My  Squaw,  she  shall  spread  me  a  blanket 
Of  soft  balsam  boughs  for  my  bed ; 

And  cook  me  a  supper  so  tempting 
Before  sunset  gleams,  fiery  red. 

I  shall  gather  my  Braves  all  about  me, 
We'll  feast  on  deer  meat  in  grease : 

And  to  pledge  us  to  faithfulness  always, 
We'll  smoke  the  good  Pipe  of  Peace. 

Our  camp  fire  will  gleam  in  our  faces, 
And  fill  us  with  peace  and  good  will. 

And  perhaps,  if  no  neighbors  annoy  us, 
After  years  we'll  be  camping  here  still." 

So  lo !    The  great  Indian  settled 

His  camp  by  the  riverside, 
And  as  years  hastened  by,  he  remained  there, 

And  living  there,  peacefully  died. 

He  never  dreamed  population 

Would  follow  where  he  used  to  walk, 

And  casting  about  for  a  name  for  the  town 
Would  call  it  Oconomowoc. 


A  CHRISTMAS  CAROL 

Ye  Angel  descended  on  earth  to  rest, 

With  ye  bright  little  stars  looking  down; 

And  He  gazed  on  the  Babe  on  His  Mother's  warm 

breast, 
With  ye  bright  little  stars  looking  down. 

A  carol  He  sang  in  the  midnight  sky, 
With  ye  bright  little  stars  looking  down, 

And  He  hung  up  the  star  for  the  Wisemen  to  spy ; 
With  ye  bright  little  stars  looking  down. 

As  to  Heaven  He  winged  on  His  joyous,  glad  way, 
With  ye  bright  little  stars  looking  down, 

He  breathed  a  bright  blessing  on  Christ's  Natal  day; 
With  ye  bright  little  stars  looking  down. 

So  my  Baby,  sleep  safe  on  Your  Mother's  warm 
breast, 

With  ye  bright  little  stars  looking  down, 
For  the  good  Angel  comes  but  to  see  thee  at  rest; 

With  ye  bright  little  stars  looking  down. 

He  takes  many  babies  up  with  him  on  high, 
With  ye  bright  little  stars  looking  down, 

But  He  smiles  on  my  Baby  and  passes  him  by ; 
With  ye  bright  little  stars  looking  down. 


A  WOODLAND  REVERIE 

All  down  the  shining  path  I  come, 
Midst  autumn  boughs  in  bloom. 
The  pinecones  crunch  beneath  my  feet, 
The  willows  part  to  give  me  room. 
I  hear  above  my  lifted  head, 
With  whirr  of  wings,  the  wood  Dove  pass; 
And  catch  a  glimpse  of  nymphs  afoot, 
Beyond  the  roadside,  in  the  grass. 

All  down  the  woodland  path  I  stray, 
As  we  have  done  but  yesterday; 
My  joyous  feet  tread  once  again 
The  road  of  comfort  after  pain. 
The  sun  will  soon  be  set  and  gone, 
And  e'er  it  goes  I  must  be  on. 
My  promised  land  I  cannot  see, 
But  oh !  how  fair  it  is  to  me ! 

All  down  the  shining  path  I  come, 
There's  laughter  on  my  lips  today, 
Oh  smile  on  world,  nor  try  to  tell 
How  vain  is  joy,  how  far  away! 
The  Mother  Bird  upon  the  nest 
Must  surely  stir  from  midst  of  dim 
And  shadowy  grey  reveries, 
To  wake  to  joy  at  sight  of  him. 


43 


All  down  the  shady  path  I  flit, 
And  pause  to  peep  and  peer  a  bit. 
The  silent  woods,  at  my  clear  call, 
Give  echoes  back,  and  that  is  all. 
The  dimming  aisles  are  long  to  tread, 
When  love  is  surely  but  ahead ! 
And  so  I  know  they're  wrong  to  say 
My   heart's  desire,   is   far   away. 


44 


TO  MRS.  W.  B.  W. 

Silver  the  crown  on  a  Queen  so  fair, 
I  do  not  ask  You  her  crown  to  wear. 

More  precious  still  are  the  memories  of  You ; 
You  are  a  Queen  with  your  silver  crowned  hair. 

Bright  are  the  diamonds  she  wears  in  that  crown, 
Diamonds  she'll  have  till  her  life  be  laid  down. 

I  care  not  for  them,  for  You  are  the  one 

Whose  diamond  bright  eyes  are  the  brightest  in 
town. 

Beauty  is  hers,  that  proud  Queen  of  a  race, 

Beauty  to  shadow  the  loveliest  face. 
"Keep  your  looks,  Scornful  one,  long  as  you  may, 

For  We  think  beautiful  a  Mother's  face!" 

Wealth  she  has  plenty  of,  Queen  of  all  Rome, 
Wealth  that  lies  heaped  about,  over  the  foam. 

Oh  but  far  wealthier,  with  love  and  kindliness, 
You  reign  supreme  in  your  kingdom  called  home ! 


45 


THE  SOLDIER'S  RETURN 

Gay  are  the  roses  that  nod  in  your  garden, 

Loveliest  of  roses,  my  Leonore! 

Weary  am  I  of  the  war's  loud  alarms, 

'Tis  long  since,  reluctant,  I  went  from  your  arms. 

And  I  pause  at  the  place  where  your  roses  call, 

And  nod  to  me  over  the  wall. 

White  are  the  lilies  that  bloom  in  your  garden, 
Whitest  of  lilies,  my  Leonore! 
Glad  were  the  beds  when  you  planted  them  there 
To  flourish  delightedly  under  your  care. 
Perhaps  I  am  weary,  because  it  is  true 
That  I  want  to  be  greeted  by  you. 

Content  are  the  breezes  that  blow  in  your  garden, 
Fairest  of  Maidens,  my  Leonore! 
Low  o'er  the  daisies  they  pass,  and  they  sweep, 
With  the  softest  of  murmurs,  the  couch  where  you 

sleep. 

They  carry  sweet   fragrance,   where   I   vainly  call 
'Mong  the  roses  that  sigh  o'er  the  wall. 

Thick  is  the  woodbine  that  grows  in  your  garden, 

Sweetest  of  Maidens,  my  Leonore ! 

How  lightly  its  tendrils  it  lays  all  about 

With  the  tendrest  of  touches,  and  weaves  in  and  out, 

'Till  you're  covered  as  lovingly,  as  you  have  kept 

Watch  o'er  it,  when  like  you,  it  has  slept ! 


THREE  HYMNS 

Morning 

I  hear  glad  voices  carolling, 

It  is  the  dawn  of  day, 
The  birds  are  chanting  notes  of  joy, 

It  is  my  hour  to  pray. 

To  pray  in  glad  thanksgiving 

For  strength  this  day  from  Thee, 

For  hopes  of  better  living, 
Though  sorrows  may  not  flee. 

My  life  is  but  a  slender  thread, 
But  morn  is  mine  so  grand ; 

I  feel  His  Holy  presence  here, 
And  clasp  His  friendly  hand. 

Arise,  oh  world,  and  hasten 

To  see  the  sun  appear; 
Make  haste,  for  in  the  morning 

The  Master  doth  appear. 

Noon 

Along  the  path  of  life 

My  weary  feet  do  stray, 
And  in  the  glare  of  noontide  heat 

I  pause,  to  pray. 
With  sorrows  surging  'round  me  here 

That  I  feel  not,  if  thou  art  near. 


47 


Along  the  path  of  life 

My  weary  feet  do  pass, 
Now  shade,  now  sunshine,  stony  roads 

Beneath  my  feet,  or  grass. 
Yet  Thy  strong  arm  shall  guide  me  far 

To  where  the  cooler  meadows  are. 

Along  the  path  of  life 

I  walk  with  joyous  tread, 
For  I  no  longer  weary  am 

Since  Thou  the  way  hast  led. 
Why  should  I  be  alone,  afraid, 

With  Thee  for  comfort,  love,  and  aid  ? 

Evening 

The  sun  has  gone  to  rest, 

And  the  birds  in  sleep  repose, 

And  the  tumult  in  my  breast 
Has  departed  where  day  goes. 

And  so,  peacefully,  I  lie 

On  my  couch  at  end  of  day ; 
Oh  good  Saviour!  pass  not  by 

A  wan  traveller  who  would  pray. 

Now  my  lids  rest  on  my  cheek, 
And  my  hands,  released,  sink  low, 

And  my  weary  limbs  would  seek 

Rest  where  night  winds  softly  blow. 

Though  a  hovel  is  my  share, 
And  a  crust  my  evening  meal, 

Yet  I  still  can  breathe  a  prayer, 
At  Thy  footstool  yet  can  kneel, 
48 


CONSTANCY 

How  pleasant  are  thy  peaceful  ways 
When  other  loves  have  come  and  gone; 

How  happy  are  thy  quiet  days 
When  other  joyful  days  are  done! 

Oh  I  would  tread  upon  these  paths, 

And  in  these  lanes,  nor  seek  for  strife; 

Nor  know  that  storms  must  come  again 
To  mar  my  uneventful  life. 

To  rise  up  in  the  pleasant  morn 
And  seek  thy  face,  thy  smile  adore; 

Or  lay  me  down  at  close  of  day, 
Within  thy  peace  forevermore. 

How  pleasant  are  Thy  quiet  ways 

When  other  ways  have  held  but  tears — 

Oh!  be  with  me  where  e'er  I  go 

Throughout  the  coming,  unseen  years! 


49 


19 1 5  LULLABY 

Sleep  little  Child! 
Your  crib  is  new  and  clean, 
Your  room  is  ventilated  well, 
You're  sheltered  with  a  screen. 
Your  nursery's  sanitary, 
No  lights  your  sleep  annoy, 
No  kisses  give  our  "germs"  to  you ; 

Slumber  little  Boy! 

Sleep  little  Child ! 
No  Mother's  clasp  so  warm 
Shall  hold  you  fast  upon  her  breast, 
'Twould  only  do  you  harm. 
No  teething  ring  for  you, 
No  wooly,  painted  toy ; 
You  live  in  1915  Child; 

Slumber  little  Boy! 

Sleep  little  Child ! 
Your  Mother's  love  so  grand 
Is  checked  by  methods,  that  prevent 
Her  holding  of  your  hand. 
And  yet  I'm  sure  she  loves  you  well, 
Though  clubs  her  time  employ. 
You'll  never  miss  her,  anyway; 

Slumber  little  Boy! 


THE  PROMISED  LAND 

Oho  little  House  of  mine  own ! 

Thy  windows  shine  bright  in  the  sun. 
Like  ten  myriads  of  stars,  where  the  clouds  passing  by 

Nod  gaily,  and  call  in  the  heavens  so  high ; 
Like  dew  drops  of  morning  on  grass  clover  grown 

Are  thy  crystal  panes,  House  of  mine  own! 

Oho  little  House  of  my  heart! 

Thy  nooks  are  a  refuge  to  me, 
Like  a  haven  for  ships  from  the  fierce  storms  that 
blow, 

Like  a  period  of  peace  after  strife  and  grief  go. 
Like  a  soothing  soul  near  me,  who  bids  woe  depart 

Are  thy  quiet  spots,  House  of  my  heart! 

Oho  little  House  of  my  dreams ! 

I  shall  see  thee  when  day  is  at  rest. 
When  evening  comes  'round,  I  shall  fall  fast  asleep, 

And  I'll  tread  thy  dear  ways  where  such  great 

hopes  I  keep; 
And  then  in  thy  golden  halls  I  shall  see  gleams 

Of  thy  gifts  for  me,  House  of  my  dreams ! 


A  PARODY 

After  "The  Arcadians" 

I  have  a  Sweetheart 

Always  cheery  and  bright. 
Look  at  Her  and  you  will  find 

She's     awfully     pretty,     or     else     you're 
blind.— 

The  sun  may  shine, 

Or  perhaps  the  sky's  a  grey  one — 
I've  often  said  to  the  Dear,  I've  said, 

"With  you  around  all  my  gloom  is  fled — 

Oh  then  I'm  a  gay  One !" 


=52 


FAME 

Fame  was  bathed  in  fragrance  sweet, 
Priceless  jewels  were  at  Fame's  feet; 

Fame  had  wreaths  of  laurel  green, 
And  crowns  of  gold  to  suit  a  queen. 

Fame  had  eyes  of  eager  fire, 

Fame  could  grant  a  heart's  desire. 

Fame  was  wise,  and  Fame  was  clever, 
And  she  drooped  and  slumbered,  never. 

Fame  had  eager  words  of  praise, 
Fame  had  gifts  to  last  always. 

She  had  years  of  eager  greed 
She  granted  to  a  soul  in  need. 

Fame  was  fair  to  look  upon, 

And  whispered,  "Now  the  goal  is  won, 
Health  and  youth  who  once  held  sway 

As  boon  companions,  where  are  they?" 


53 


A  FRAGMENT 

Grey  hopes,  and  the  world  awakes, 

And  the  twittering  birds  in  the  silent  dawn 

With  their  joyous  hearts,  are  aroused  again. 

O'er  the  dew  laden  meadows  the  daylight  breaks, 

The  mist  covered  sun  comes  toiling  on ; 

And  down  the  glass  drips  the  ceaseless  rain. 

Dead  hopes ;  but  the  earth  is  not  dead ; 

The  voice  of  the  Cock  can  be  heard  abroad, 

As  he  summons  his  mates  to  their  toil  once  more. 

The  sun  breaks  through,  and  he  beams  overhead 

As  he  dries  the  dew  on  the  rested  sod, 

The  world  has  forgotten  the  night  before. 

My  hopes!     But  I'm  not  downcast, 
For  though  life  has  no  portion  but  pain, 
And  I  grope  with  the  touch  of  the  blind ; 
Through  the  clouds  breaks  the  light  of  my  life  at 

last; 

My  grief  is  stilled  once  again, 
And  my  heart  shall  have  love  'round  it  twined. 


54 


UNRECOGNIZED 

I  saw  you  in  the  happy  flowers, 

And  all  the  summer  waking  hours, 

I  felt  you  in  the  sunny  air; 

Your  love  for  me  was  everywhere. 

I  heard  you  in  an  ancient  song, 
And  in  my  book  you  lingered  long. 

I  saw  you  in  the  solitudes 

Of  all  my  favorite  walks  and  woods. 

I  saw  you  in  the  mirrored  pool, 
Where  river  laps  its  edges  cool, 

I  homeward  went,  across  the  lot 
And  met  you,  but  I  knew  you  not. 


SPRING 

Now  on  every  leafless  tree 

Buds  their  formless  hearts,  unclose, 
And  lo !  on  every  bush  we  see 

A  sleeping  rose! 

Spring  her  happy  birdsong  sends, 
And  joyfully  we  call  her  love ; 

While,  wistful,  o'er  the  rose  she  bends 
That  does  not  move. 

Ah  Spring!  Thy  coming  will  not  make 
Her  lift  her  drooping  head,  nor  stir; 

But  still,  in  time  you  might  awake 
The  rose,  if  you  will  call  to  her ! 


TO  BARRIE'S  PAN 

Oh  most  beautiful  ; 
Winging  it  heavenward; 
Descend  here,  that  I  may 
Go  with  you  where  you  dwell. 

You  see  the  sunrise ; 
And  I  see  but  darkness; 
Descend  to  my  valley; 
Enshroud  me  with  sunshine. 

Leave  me  not  for  others 
Less  faithful  than  I  am, 
Endow  me  with  gladness 
Oh!   youth,   so  eternal! 


57 


THE  ADORED  ONE 

She  came  like  music  on  the  wind, 
A  Fairy-Elf,  a  Witch,  who  tore 
Our  hearts  with  her  strange  fluttering^, 
And  feet  that  danced  upon  the  floor. 
Her  gown  as  simple  as  her  heart, 
Her  song  as  unaffected-art! 

She  went  like  music  on  the  wind, 
And  with  her  all  the  rainbow  skies 
That  with  her  coming  wrapt  us  round, 
And  bathed  us  all  in  happy  sighs. 
But  the  sweet  melodies  she  wove, 
Unconscious  of  them,  they  were  Love! 


A  VALENTINE 

My  Lady,  satin  for  thy  feet 

Oh!  would  I  to  thee  always  treat, 

That  where  thy  step  hast  lightly  prest, 
That  way  shall  men  revere  as  blest. 

My  Lady,  golden  be  thy  gown 

When  e'er  thou  farest  through  the  town, 
That  all  who  see  thee  might  proclaim 

A  blessing  on  my  Lady's  name. 

My  Lady,  roses  in  their  hair 

Such  loves  as  thou  art  always  wear, 

Though  ne'er  a  rose  will  ever  be 
The  half  of  what  thou  art  to  me. 

My  Lady  will  not  deck  her  feet, 

Nor  gown  of  gold  flaunt  in  the  street, 

My  Lady  will  no  rose  or  gem ; 

She  finds  life  lovelier  far  than  them! 


RECOLLECTION 

Singing,  she  went  across  the  fields, 
Her  step  as  light  as  the  wind  at  noon, 

Her  lips  were  as  red  as  the  June  rose  fair 

That  I  fastened,  myself,  in  her  coal  black  hair. 

Her  soul  was  as  sweet  as  her  melody, 

And  her  heart  was  as  pure  as  that  old  time  tune. 

Singing,  she  went  across  the  fields, 

And  her  voice  was  as  clear  as  the  frosty  air. 
The  memory  of  her  is  as  dear  as  her  eyes ; 

Her  days  were  as  fleet  as  a  bird  that  flies. 
My  thoughts  are  of  her  on  this  night  in  the  spring 

time, 

And  they  cross  the  same  fields,  to  her  slumbering 
there. 


6c 


THE  LAND  OF  DREAMS 

Why  do  these  thoughts  of  mine  stray  so  far? 

Why?    And  where  find  I  my  love  and  Star? 
What  is  my  hope  that  I  can  console 

Myself  for  her  absence  and  keep  love  whole? 

Why  do  these  thoughts  of  mine  stray  and  flit 
Through  sunshine  and  shadow,  though  I  still  sit 

Immovable  here,  when  the  sunlight  gleams 

Where  desires  are  granted  in  countries  of  dreams? 

Why  do  these  thoughts  of  mine  sing  and  soar 
Beyond  these  four  walls  and  my  prison  door? 

Why  do  I  smile,  when  my  hungry  heart 

If  wakened  to  real  things  must  ache  and  smart? 

There's  naught  in  this  old  world  can  put  to  rest 
The  same  old  hunger  within  my  breast 

To  see  her  once  more,  but  the  sunlight  gleams 
And  desires  are  granted  in  countries  of  dreams. 


61 


A  TOAST 

Here's  to  the  Woman  who  stays  at  home, 

And  is  sheltered,  both  mother  and  wife; 

Here's  to  the  Woman  in  silks  and  in  jewels 

Who  leads  a  gay  butterfly  life. 

Here's  to  the  modern  Suffragette, 

Whether  or  not  She  reaches  the  polls, 

And  here's  to  the  writer  of  books  and  of  plays ; 

And  her  who  daubs  faces,  and  often  men's  souls. 

And  here's  to  the  Woman,  bored  man's  Benefactress ; 

She  has  many  names,  but  we  call  her  the  Actress. 


62 


CONTENTMENT 

Written  in  school 

Fire  in  town! 
I  can  hear  the  old  bell,  with  its  solemn  voice,  in  the 

town  outside. 

I  count  the  strokes  in  an  awestruck  tone, 
With  the  dreadful  beats  that  are  always  known; 
And  I  hear  at  a  distance  the  sound  of  hoofs 
As  the  horses  trot  by  through  the  town  outside. 

Fire  in  town! 
I  am  shut  within,  and  no  answering  shouts  shall  ever 

fall 

On  my  eager  ears,  I  shall  never  find 
That  the  streets  of  the  town  with  their  daily  grind 
Are  open  to  me  at  my  own  free  will ; 
That  I  stand  unfettered  among  them  all. 

Fire  in  town! 
What  avails  it  with  me  ? 
I  am  safe  in  these  walls,  so  safe  in  my  cell ! 
No  changes  shall  mar  my  peaceful  life  here, 
And  I  lie  awake  in  the  daybreak  clear, 
As  the  hours  creep  silently  on.    All's  well ! 


JOURNEY'S  END 

Oh  blest  to  feel,  when  even  falls, 
The  kindly  darkness  close  around. 

Nor  fear  the  dim,  encircling  walls 

Of  night,  for  there  just  peace  is  found. 

No  care,  no  strife  the  Pilgrim  finds, 
He  sees  the  sun  set  in  the  west 

As  homeward  o'er  the  hill  he  winds 
To  seek  repose  and  well  earned  rest. 

When  he  shall  Heavenward  finally  turn. 
And  know  no  more  of  earthly  toil, 

How  short  a  time  he'll  take  to  learn 
To  tread  on  the  Eternal  soil! 

Oh  blest  to  feel  when  even  falls, 
And  low  the  head  that  used  to  be 

A  well-known  one  within  our  halls, 
The  promise  of  Eternity ! 


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UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA  LIBRARY 

Los  Angeles 
This  book  is  DUE  on  the  last  date  stamped  below. 


Form  L9-42m-8.'49  (85573)444 


THE  LIBRARY 

UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA 
LOS  ANGELES 


PS 


&875A1? 
1916 


L»*W  WIUTY 


